One Wedding and a Funeral

                              Just one wedding this year for me. My sister's.
Being that she is older than me, a lawyer and has older kids, she probably has had some more relationship experiences than I have with men and I should not worry. And I don't worry in a real sense (I love this guy!)

 but I still feel the strong desire to whip out a good ol gruff Irish accent and threaten him good in true to a made up home country brogue "You treat her well or I'll have your arse". And I'll squint me eye at him whilst I take me pipe out of my mouth and blow it in little hammer shapes above him.

And-this coming- from a 5'4 160lb blonde female this will be very intimidating. With me suspenders pulled slightly away with my gloved thumbs and my Italian Grandma Body tapping deh boot of me moccasin on the bar's wood floor.


I still have a couple months to find a nice dress to fit this curvaceous mexican/american/scottish/hotchocolate sweating body. Oh but I'll do it.

This weekend has been pretty sucky-for me. And I am pretty sure my hot sexy nurse husband is pooped out as well. I was down and out with strep throat...and got the flu. Like the puke flu. When my body gets angry and sick it likes to let it out all the other end as well. Because basically, even after all the years of evolution in my gene pool my bowels are very weak willed (I would not have survived pioneering).

So tonight, Monday. After my oldest finished his Harry Potter reading. My youngest (yes there are two of em) was sound asleep. I did what any normal, hormonal, socially deprived, recovering sicky would do.

I decided to go on Zillow and look up my house in California. The one we are renting while we are moved to this new country of Utah. Then I go to Redfin and find what looks to be a google camera picture of the front.
Yes, the one bush my husband begged me not to take out-missing. (my intention was to take out all of them....there were three) . The end of the driveway light (that was runover by my husband...by "mistake" according to him. After I told him I was going to put a red and blue light in them and flash the light anytime a car was speeding by. Coincidence? I think not) still duck taped...thats right DUCK taped.

 But seeing our old home, in all its somewhat outdated awesomenes-I mostly noticed the  citrus trees and flowers out front,  and our cars parked out front in the photo. I see the sun shining, trimmed green lawn and lampost.
Well, it made me cry.

It first started as one silent tear falling. Then as my husband comes over (I am laying in our king bed cradling my little netbook) curiously asking what I am looking at-I show him the picture-and start to nearly weep.

"I miss our old house!"

Within a  few minutes l I am semi bawling (the kind that gets stuck in your nose because you are trying to hold it in (and at which point he has brough in reinforcements for me...and himself...chocolate)

"I miss my home Country!"
"I miss having friends come over to visit. I miss not having friends to go visit whenever I want. I miss not having my family nearby! I miss being able to take a walk in shorts and flip flops in January and be in the sunshine!"

As you can guess. Yes, I am a big baby. And Yes, after laying in bed for three days very sick with little protein and forced fluids, stuck inside away from real society....I was not my best self.

So I sit muddled over my hot chocolate (which is delicous) pj shirt and underwear on moaning about my sadness.

 I suggest that maybe I need to have a funeral for my home country of California.

"So you can let it go and move on?" he asks with optimism and brightness returning to his eyes.

"NO! The grieving process is a long one and I am still in angry/sad phase!"

I think this is the point in the story where he should have been allowed to take a courtesy bow and walk backwards awkwardly out of the room and throw chocolate at me (well I should say MORE chocolate he had already made me some hot chocolate which I was crying into...as I said at the beginning...old italian grandma body). But he stayed with me blinking occasionally.

After a few blubbery  breaths I suggested he do the Eulogy for the funeral. I could sit in the corner in a lovely black chanel tweed dress suit with veil over face and beautifully cry into my hermes hankerchief. Short legs crossed on top of the stool I am using (My feet  can't touch the ground unless I am wearing very high heels-which I blame on my mexican gene pool so the stool is necessary). He, handsome as always, carrying out a beautiful speech how "Despite the dang high reality prices, crazy income taxes and electricity rate...California was A M A Z I N G". And I would nod in approval as he sat respectfully next to me patting my knee gently.

Next, Andrea Bocceli would sing "Ave Maria" and come over afterwards, hold my face in his hands and tell me how young my skin feels. And I would say "its due to the Utah weather, I never see the sun and I am constantly applying special cream to my face to not let it crack from the dryness".

Yes, I think I'll have to do this funeral sometime soon.

I think its Ok to mourn the loss of a different life. Of friends. Of family. I don't believe you ever lose anything (besides your mind) or anybody forever. However,   sometimes  it feels we are forced to walk through a door without a turn back handle. Its been 6 months since we moved here and it has felt like when you fit into your skinny jeans again and you are feeling all good and then suddenly 4 days later they are 3 sizes too small. Like a little hope and dream was shattered-and you literally hear it being crushed.



I don't know if I will ever feel like I "fit in" or find "my zone" here if you will. Its just a different culture and-at no surprise to me-I am surviving the winter and don't really enjoy some of the culture changes I have found here
 I have lots of tools I use and coping strategies to deal with this  but it doesn't make it easier. It just makes it throb a  little less. I know it will work out. I need to give it at least 3 years. It seems it can take getting used to anything almost in 3 years. I also think after three years I will better understand if I can swallow more years here or if I need to find an alternative income to get back to my homeland.

And despite my low tolerance bowels-I have a strong heart and soul. And these short legs are going to work that linoleum dance floor at my sisters wedding-in whatever stretchy dress I mush this pregger body into.

Because of this awesome happy wedding-I will get a vacation sooner to California!